Stars
by darkmorsmordreheart
Summary: HP&DM. Making love under the stars in the wintertime and still managing to keep warm. How is such a thing possible?


Stars

**By darkmosmordreheart**

For **WiseDraco: **_Harry Potter is not mine, but if he was, I would give him to you on a silver platter . . . or, preferably, Draco Malfoy._

* * *

Moonlight shimmered across the winter landscape like the illumination of diamonds on fine silk. Trees appeared dressed for the winter festivities, already dripping with icy crystals and wearing hats of the fluffiest white. The wind occasionally whistled restlessly – a bit peeved that it was just about the only one awake at this hour – but the trees danced with it all the same, just as they always had done. No other sound was heard; the birds, tired from the cold, dared not utter a song, the fish had cease their daily activities in the grand lake, and not a wizard stepped foot out of their bedrooms, let alone climbed from their charm-warm beds . . . save for one.

The blond sat silently by the winter lakeside, feeling somewhat in his element. Moonlight that caressed his silvery hair as a lover, snowflakes that kissed his white skin like old friends; he felt welcomed in the cold. His silver eyes absorbed the sight of the half frozen lake and he smiled that he was the first to witness the initial snowfall. His face was aching a bit from the chill, but he supposed it was to be accepted in order to be the sole participate in this unique carnival of diamonds. His smile widened as the wind picked up a bit, twirling the snow that had yet to settle on ground in an elegant arch that twisted and stretched and dipped before scattering into shimmering flakes every which way.

What he would not give to become one of those flakes, so tiny and irrelevant, yet such an essential part to this massive event. What importance he would have, what responsibility . . . How beautiful he would become . . . and someone would acknowledge him as such by doing the intimacy of catching him on their tongue or in their lashes or even on the tips of fingers. To be acknowledged of such beauty and then simply melt away as if the beauty never mattered . . . that was what he wished. A chance to become humble . . . A chance to become better before an emerald gaze . . . Oh, if only to be caught by that tongue –

He closed his eyes as the wind picked up once more, sending fresh snowfall in his direction, showering him in the season's cold kisses and hugging him with the cold. He wrapped his thick cloak further around himself and stood from his place on the bench and turned back to the castle. He grimaced at the sight of it. He did not really want to go back inside, not during the winter, but he knew he must; he had already suffered the effects of a horrible cold the week before. He turned back to the lake for another glance of the crystallized beauty of ice and hid his smile behind a green and silver scarf. He trudged carefully through the snow, confident that he could manage not to fall despite the heavy winds that had begun and confident that he would not get caught out of bed once inside. He walked slowly up the stairs as he savored the last moments of this fantastic winter event he would have until the next night. When he reached the large door that would shut out winter for the rest of the night, the wind's howl abruptly changed and he turned to see what it was about. His eyes grew with wonder as a large, snowy white creature flew at him through the shower of cold flakes, her song so much different from the wind's but it flowed so perfectly in sync. The owl perched upon the snow covered railing and stared up at him with wide, yellow eyes as he stared back with wide silver ones.

"Alright, Owl," he said quietly. "What do you wish of me?"

She twisted her head to the side as if to give him an appraising look, then lifted her leg to reveal a bit of parchment attached. He lifted a hand and clenched and unclenched his cold stiff fingers before taking the note. He nodded his thanks towards the stunning creature and, to his surprise, she nodded back before abruptly leaping into the air and flying away as if the wind willed her to. He smiled beneath his scarf and turned to the door, opening it slowly so that the wind could not force the control of it away.

He closed it as quickly and quietly as he could; wishing he could find some way to cloak the sound of howling wind from the empty, echoing halls. He shook the snow from his shivering form and unwrapped his scarf to gain a clear view of the hallway he had just walked into. Once confirmed of his safety, he smiled and pulled off his heavy winter cloak. He pressed his back against the door and peered down for a moment at the note in his hand.

"_Lumos_." The note did not surprise him. He had gotten such offers before, several blunter than this one, but for some strange reason – perhaps the method of delivery or the poeticism of the words – he was strangely intrigued. He folded the note once more and stared down the hallway towards the dungeons and his large, warm bed . . . then he turned the opposite direction and walked towards the Great Hall, mulling the poetic words over in his mind along the way.

_I want you._

_More than anything in my heart, I want you and the feel of it is driving me insane._

_I spend nights trying to beat you from my heart, but it seems you have already taken nest in the ribbons of my soul._

_I wish to wrap these ribbons around you, tie you to me forever . . . or at least until this winter ends._

_For one night, I wish to make love to you beneath the stars, beneath this season's night skies._

_I wish to hold you, caress you, warm you from the cold._

_I wish to be with you for this night, in a place where the worse of winter is not witnessed, but the beauty of it can be seen._

_Please, come to me._

He walked into the Great Hall and set his cloak and scarf on the ground. With the letter still firmly in his grip, he walked to the center of the hall and into the center of a circle of floating candles varying in shape and size. There was nothing of interest in the room other than the candles and the four long house tables lined up on either wall to the left and right of him. He vaguely wondered if he had walked into a demonic ceremony or, worse, made an incorrect guess and ended up in the wrong place. He shook his head at his wild thoughts; there were no proper symbols on the floor to conduct any demonic ceremonies and he never made incorrect guesses. The Great Hall was the only reasonable place to be made love to under stars in the winter. He looked up and smiled vaguely at the enchanted ceiling. It was snowing up there, too, the small flakes caught the delicate rays of the enchanted moon and stars and they glittered slowly down until finally fading away halfway to their destination.

"You look like you want to stick your tongue out and taste them."

The blond turned his head to the direction of the vaguely familiar, soft spoken voice and his weak smile melted into a frown. He was staring into the shadows behind the floating candles, but he could just make out the shape of a male form. "You're a man."

"I thought you liked men."

"I like women as well," he replied.

"Sorry, but my sex doesn't have a flip switch to it." The man smiled; Draco could hear it in his voice.

The blond bit his lip, cocked his hips to the right, and crossed his arms, essentially pulling himself into a position that made him look both defensive, yet coy at the same time. "Who are you?"

"Someone who wants you very much."

"Everyone wants me."

"Then call me one out of everyone."

"Come here, One," the blond said and the other man moved into the dim light, his emerald eyes dark with lust. The blond bit his lip and shivered; he had wanted this, he had not realized how much he wanted, but all at once it hit him, the want, the need, and it threatened to bring him to his knees. His silver eyes hastily took in everything about the other man, the eyes, the glossy black hair sticking out every which way that looked like an intentional mistake, like controlled chaos in the orderly way it was so wrong. He wanted to thread his fingers in the wickedly dark locks; he wanted to use them to trace the golden skin that seemed to just scream for his touch. He wanted those amazingly soft looking lips against his and the tongue behind them to run along his body, to catch the crystal drops of sweat along his shivering frame. "It's you."

"It's me," the man agreed, a smile on his face as he moved closer and closer until only the candles were between them.

"You want to make love to me."

"I want to consume you," the brunet corrected, reaching up and pushing aside a few candles. "I want to devour you."

"Why?"

The brunet smiled and licked his lips, the hand that moved the candles further lifting to push soft white-blond hair from silver eyes. "Didn't you say that everyone wants you?"

"But you're not everyone," the blond argued, his body subconsciously leaning into the other's touch. "You're different."

"Why?"

"Because . . . I think I might . . . want you, too."

The brunet smiled and pushed the blond gently back enough so that he had enough room to step into the circle of candles. They stared awkwardly at one another; now that their barrier of wax was gone they had nothing to protect them, to stop them from what they were going to do. The blond wrapped his arms around himself and lowered his gaze to the ground. "Cold?"

His eyes shot shyly back to the brunet and he shook his head. "Isn't the point of all this that I _not_ be cold?" The brunet smiled at him and took a step closer. The blond watched as the other man pulled his arms off of his torso and place them against his shoulders instead. They were so close, though a barrier of air remained between their bodies, their breath mingled sweetly between their lips. "Are we going to dance now?"

"Do you fantasize about dancing with me?" the brunet asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. The man had a remarkable ability to keep their gazes locked and the blond refused to be shied away by it.

"Horizontally," he replied a bit boldly and the brunet blushed. He lifted one hand from the strong shoulder to trace the crimson flush with the tip of his finger. "Are we going to dance? Seriously?"

"If you want to," the other replied as his blush faded. His hands gripped the loose robes around the blond's waist and he leaned a bit closer. "I know a spell that makes music."

"I don't need music to dance."

The brunet smiled at him graciously and put a bit of pressure on the blond's hips; they slowly began to sway. They unconsciously moved closer, their length of their faces pressed together, their breath quickened, and everything seemed to slow but the hearts beating in their chests.

"Are we still dancing?" the blond asked as strong hands threaded into his slightly damp hair. "Maybe we should slow down."

"We're not moving," the other teen whispered in his ear, but he did not believe him. He was scared from the rush that had hit him and too frightened to open his eyes and see what was happening to him as he sank deeper into his rival's arms. He buried his face into the other's neck and gasped.

"I think we should slow down." The brunet pulled away, leaving him a bit bereft.

"I want to show you something," the green-eyed teen said, lifting his wand from the pocket of his robes before pulling the thick fabric off. He was only dressed in a thin t-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants, but the blond had never seen anything more enchanting. He pulled off his own robes and let them drop to the floor around his booted feet. The brunet stared at him, still in his school uniform and smiled. "You haven't even been back to your dormitory, have you?"

The blond shrugged and smirked, pushing his chin up and out. "It reminds me of my bedroom at home."

"Your parents make you sleep in a dungeon?"

He felt his lips quirk up, a bubble of laughter in his throat. "It's huge . . . It's too huge."

"That's bad?"

"It's cold."

"Don't you like the cold?" the brunet asked, twirling his wand absently between his hands. The blond watched the movements for a while, mentally discussing with himself whether or not to answer.

He finally shrugged and looked away from the twirling wand and down to the stone floor. "Not that kind of cold."

"Come here," the other teen said quietly. "I want to show you something."

Strong arms reached around him and pulled him into the center of the circle of candles and against a strong chest. "What's this? You're not showing me anything."

"I will. Be patient."

"I don't like patience."

"I know." Long fingers brushed the golden strands of hair from his eyes. "Look up. Tell me what you see."

He looked up and his grey eyes absorbed the amazing sight . . . A night sky, the stars themselves crying tears of white from; it was almost as beautiful as its outdoor counterpart, but somehow he found it better. Maybe it was the warm chest he was curled up against. "I see stars and snow."

"Which do you like the most?"

"The stars," he answered, unconsciously burrowing further into the chest every time it rumbled with his rival's words. "Why?"

"I've been, uh, studying the enchanted ceiling for a while now."

"Why?" the blond asked once more, turning his head slightly to take in the other's slowly reddening expression.

"Well . . . Uh . . . For this purpose . . . For you," he finished with a shrug as if it was not a massive deal, but his emerald eyes glimmered with the true answer.

"How long?"

"Why so many questions?" the brunet asked in an attempt to laugh off this obviously uncomfortable conversation.

"How long?"

"Since . . . I saw you sitting in the snow last year. You were watching it fall by the lake. It was dark and . . . and you only watched the snow and lifted your face up to the sky . . . to catch it, I assume."

Silver eyes narrowed slightly, but his body refused to pull away from the other's warmth like he wanted to. And, in what seemed like an act of defiance, his fingers curled further into the brunet's thin t-shirt. "Why are you doing this?"

"I told you that I want you."

"Why?"

"Because you lied to me about whom you were."

"That doesn't even make sense, Po –"

Lips crashed against his, coaxing the words from them, and swallowing them into silence. The other pulled back slightly to look down at his shocked, flushed expression and searched for anger in wide grey eyes. He found none. "You presented yourself as this . . . person who was too important to lower yourself to anything. You walk around like an act, as if you're trying to trick everyone into thinking you have no feelings, no pleasures, just malice and sarcasm."

"I don't want to seem weak."

"You don't seem too strong either," the brunet told him and his back went rigid. "You have this invisible shield that no one can break through and . . . That night I saw you . . . I just thought . . ."

The blond closed his eyes as the words trailed off, but did not move away. He attempted to push his face into the other's shoulder, but lips caught his once more and he could do no more than fall into the sensation. Whispers breezed across his mouth, but he felt rather than heard them. "What?"

"I want to bring the stars to you," his rival repeated, his eyes closed tight. "I know how to."

"Then do it."

"I will." Those eyes opened with fierce determination. He stepped back from the blond and lifted his wand to the ceiling. He drew a circle in the air and the candles surrounding them began to move, spinning slowly around them, their flames glowing more and more. Hot wax dripped, creating a ring on the floor as it cooled. The blond began to fear that his first suspicions about the appearance of the Great Hall were true as the flames sparked blue. "Look up." He jolted slightly at the voice before remembering the one casting whatever spell this was. He looked up and gasped. Were the enchanted stars falling to him or was he rising to them? "Look around." He did and gaped, barely able to believe what was happening.

The candles were gone, but light still twinkled around him in the form of stars. Thousands of tiny, glittering stars, floating around him . . . among him. He swallowed a shuttering breath; never had anything seemed so beautiful. Stars that he could reach out and touch . . . grasp. He reached out slowly to a winking light, amazed at how pale his hand appeared as it pushed through the lazy blue haze that had seemingly fallen with the stars. The light twinkled just beneath his palm, warming him and leaving him in awe all at once. He slowly closed his hand around it and cried at the beauty that pushed into his hand and spread out of his fingertips, shooting the amazing light five ways.

He looked up to the brunet to see the teen watching him tentatively.

"Thank you," he said shakily, wiping shyly at his wet cheeks.

"You welcome," the other murmured, looking away shyly. The blond bit his lip and held out his hand, aching for another to take it. The answering hand cautiously did and he smiled. "I'm ready to dance now."

Emerald eyes brightened as if embers burned behind them and he allowed himself to be pulled into those strong arms again . . . and allowed himself to fall into the spell.

Lips were against his lips, his skin, kissing his body, his spirit, caressing his soul and heart as they sunk with one another to their knees. Lips were against his lips, his hair, kissing his all of him and not enough of him, caressing and coaxing life from him as he fell back and allowed the strong body of the other to hold him to the floor, to keep him from floating away into the stars. Clothing easily melted into the night, easily disappeared in the blue haze to be seen again when wanted . . . if ever wanted.

A hot mouth, open and panting, sliding a tongue out to sample the skin above his collarbone, then his chin, then his cheek, his eyelids, his fingers, his navel, his shoulder, his throat . . . entranced him. He spread his legs, allowed velvet feel of pleasure to skim the flesh of the inside of his thighs. Allowed it higher, then lower, and higher again. Warmth literally engulfed him, sending him arching in a frenzied state, his hands blindly searching, but fruitlessly grabbing onto nothing. Sobbed begs gained nothing but further teasing licks, further torturing laps of the skin that became more sensitive with every new touch. Warm fingers traced up his cool sides, shocking him with the bliss that pierced through him through the tips of them. He screamed to the heavens above him – and now around him – with everything he had, pleading for a moment to end his torment, but continue his ecstasy forever. His hips lifted with the help of hands gripping almost too tightly to them and the heavens answered his call. Everything fell around him; he was floating, flying, soaring, and falling all at once. Nothing was touching him but warmth, filling him with it until he could fall no more. He opened his eyes to see where he had fallen only to gaze upon the sight of green pastures within the gaze of another.

The brunet settled above him and cradled his head in one hand to lifted and lower their mouths to the same place. The brunet kissed him . . . or, in the least, attempted to. His kiss brought with it an intoxicating flavor of want and pleasure that had once been and the taste transformed the kiss into more. The brunet was feasting on his mouth. It was no longer a meeting of gentle lips, but of surrender to a hungered tongue. The brunet licked away his harsh pants, traced the lips that panted over and over until he was merely lapping at them like an animal; no longer in control of his own actions. Moans resounded, bounced amongst the stars as the wild tongue devoured him slowly and sucked away any inhibitions. Pale hands clutched at a golden back, running their short nails down the sweat slicked skin, memorizing the feel of every cell of flesh they could.

And it was all so warm. Nothing but warmth. So, so warm.

His warmth pulled away slightly and lifted him up, placed either of his legs on either of his counterpart's shoulders. He closed his eyes and arched in wait . . . in wait and wait and wait. He heard the clattering of something and a flustered curse, but managed to suppress his smile; his lover was trying so hard to please him, he would not take away from this moment. A soft nose nuzzled his calf and he finally smiled as kisses followed. He rolled his hips into cool, empty air and was gifted with a soft groan, vibrating against his leg.

"No more . . . I can't watch you do that without wanting to . . ." The blond smiled as the gruff voice trailed off with his further movement. His legs had slid away from the other's broad shoulders, but he replaced them with his feet and, grateful that the other man was so strong, he used the brunet's body for leverage, pushing against it and lifting his hips higher, presenting himself better, spreading himself wider. He dared not open his eyes, already knowing a blush had crept onto the other's face and not wanting to cause his own. More clattering and another hushed curse and a slickened finger pushed into him.

"So hot!" he gasped, bending backwards to help it delve deeper. He rolled his pelvis, viciously hoping for another finger and, yet again, obtaining his wish. "Yes . . ."

"Do you ever do this to yourself?" a soft voice inquired and he flushed hotly, clapping both hands over his mouth to hold in his moans as another digit hastily followed the last. "Is that yes?"

To be spoken to in such a way in such a beautiful moment . . . it should not have been allowed. He should have protested it immediately . . . But the words shivered through him and it had felt so good and everything was still so beautiful. He pushed his hips up in a following motion that spread his legs apart even wider, then pushed them down, aching to absorb the fingers in even more. Those fingers touched him, touched a spot inside of him that made him feel like fragmented light; he scattered everywhere in that moment, arched into oblivion and more, feeling the broken pieces of himself slowly float away, but he continued to pump himself up and down.

"So greedy," the brunet said huskily and grey eyes finally opened to look upon the mess of himself he had made. Green eyes searched his silently as the brunet lifted his free fingers to his own lips, licking them slowly, memorizing the taste of the blond's pleasure. Once clean, the hand fisted into his hair and pulled him up for a kiss. He legs dropped to either side of the lap he was now sitting on and the fingers left him only to reappear between the tangle of tongues for the brunet to taste. Those green eyes burned brightly before closing in pleasure. "You are the most beautiful flavor I have ever tasted."

The blond responded with a nuzzle and the brunet groaned. "Please . . ."

"Yes," the brunet panted, pure lust behind his tone.

"Please," the blond urged again, his hands wandering the other's flesh listlessly just to grip it, then release it in an unsure manner. "Please."

"I will. I will . . . Let me . . . Just let me kiss you a bit more . . ."

The desperate plea incited reaction that was almost violent in its intensity. The lips and tongues met as before, but there was a charge between them, something that had not been there before, a ghost of an amazing emotion that they were too stupid to grasp or too distracted to understand or too far gone to care about. It surged between nibbles and moans and licks and heat and it consumed them without either noticing.

And they fell.

Nothing mattered but the heat or the feel of that man sliding into him or the sensation that hung between them, so fantastic that when they joined, the blond flung his head back and moaned with everything in him, "Harry!"

The brunet moved then, really moved; desperate in manner he moved in until the blond could scream nothing more coherent than his name and slowly after then, not even that. Their joining was nothing as how he imagined. This frantic coupling of greed and pleasure and pleasurable greed could in no way be considered lovemaking, but – in their minds – it was hopelessly, recklessly titled as such.

The blond arched back with every thrust, so random and amazing and powerful that he almost fell, but he caught himself with both hands. One of his hands had fallen on the circle of wax and he opened his eyes. His lover was looking at him, nothing but him and he was grateful; his third wish of the night granted. With every new thrust, his hand would fall back to the ring of wax until he could feel the part beneath his sweating palm melting with him. He leaned back fully, allowing his partner full control of every movement they made, and gazed at the black abyss above as his body began its third bend to absolute bliss.

The endless abyss watched him in his desperate pleasure and he was grateful. He wanted it to be endless. He wanted it to never end. Hot tears, searing hot tears from his lover's eyes hit his stomach and he threw himself into the abyss, reaching out past his dream of a companion and capturing one of the stars he had ignored up until this point, as he had been so distracted with better things.

The warmth of the star and a final wrench of his hips and he knew he was glowing. He felt it inside of him and in his lover as well and he burst into tears because of it. He quickly found solace in the other's arms and they held one another and cried and moaned and held one another until they finally fell back to a semblance of what they had been.

Trembling lips traced the blond's neck and collar, his lover's pants were harsh and hot against his skin, and, somehow, he found the strength and ability to lift his hands, move his fingers to trace his lover's face, and whisper, "More."

And within moments, they were soaring amongst the stars that were so desperately trying to keep up.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'll have you know, that after I wrote this, I curled up in my bed for about a half an hour mumbling to myself and humming, "Mmm." I have no idea whether that means I'm crazy or if I was just overwhelmed by writing this damn thing, but who cares. Mmm. _**-DMH**_


End file.
